Fault and Consequence
by MadeElly
Summary: Spring Awakening. Play and musical refrences. Ilse refuses to go to Mortiz's funeral for one reason. Oneshot.


**Fault and Consequence**

Ilse put her head in her hands, pulling her knees up to her chest. She was leaning against the great big oak tree that was near where she used to play robbers with Wendla and Melchi and…Moritz. 

She tried hard to not let the tears pour down; no blubbering, Ilse, she told herself. But for some reason, she could not stop the scalding tears running down her cheeks, and finally she surrendered, leaning her head back against the great big oak tree. She straightened her legs out and kicked a daisy that was serenely growing next to her foot. She made no sound. The only noise she heard was the plip-plip of her tears falling on her green dress. Grabbing her dress, she hit her head against the tree, trying to stop the pain from spreading. The pain of losing him.

As she grew up, she was never _that _close to Moritz. He was strange to her, especially his self conscious tendencies. Ilse never cared what anyone thought. Maybe that was her downfall. If she had listened to papa and mum, maybe she wouldn't be living with the Priapus Club. Maybe Heinrich would never have found her, never have threatened her, never have made her pretend she was Ariadne, or Ganymede. 

Or maybe…just _maybe_, Ilse would be the one buried today. Not Moritz.

The thought of his funeral made her cry harder. She didn't experience death: she had _never _experienced death. No one close to her had ever died. She had been through so many things…things she thought she would never have to go through, but death…death was not one of them. Which made Moritz's death so much harder. And a suicide…why would someone want to kill themselves?

All these questions made Ilse sob harder. She still didn't understand why she felt this way. She and Moritz were never close. Not since they were little kids. 

And finally, as the wind blew and she finished stomping on the daisy next to her foot, it dawned on her.

_I'm the one who did it. I killed Moritz_.

She was the last one to talk to him, right? The last one to hear his voice, see his face, be with him. She could have saved him. She _should _have saved him. And she tried, she knew she tried. At first she was just so excited to see him. She hadn't seen any of her old childhood friends in ages. Even when Wendla stopped by to drop some jam off, Ilse was too busy sitting for Isidor Landauer to talk to her. So when she saw Moritz, walking full of melancholy toward the giant field at the outskirts of town, she was so excited to be reunited with the life she once had. 

But as she started talking to him, she realized something was wrong. His eyes were glazed over, and it seemed as if Moritz were no longer behind those sweet brown eyes. So she started talking about her own exploits, her own life, hoping that somehow Moritz could relate. That she could, someway, somehow, get it through to him that everything would be all right.

And talking to him, she became distracted. He had grown up. A _lot_. He wasn't as scrawny as he used to be. When he smiled, she smiled too. She just became so happy to see him…and she realized that she missed him. Her story became less of her trying to get through to him and more of getting him to take her away from what others deemed a horrid life. 

Because when he refused to go with her, her heart dropped, and she started to cry. "By the time you're ready, I'll be in a trash heap somewhere!" 

She didn't mean to say that, but she was sure it was true. He wasn't ready to be friends with her, was he? None of them were. They couldn't handle it. Not even Melchi Gabor, who claimed to be so rebellious. He didn't even know what rebellion was. Another part of her was crying for the fact that she knew she had lost him. 

That thought made her cry even harder as she sat up against the big oak tree. She _knew _he was gone by the time she asked him to come over. Why didn't she try to do anything? Why, oh, why did she leave? It was all her fault. All of it. Everything was ruined because of her. 

Now Moritz was dead. The first death she experienced and it had to be Moritz. Someone she barely knew and thought was strange, but related to. Someone who she liked _being _with. It was her own selfishness that caused this. She could have saved him. She _should _have saved him.

"Ilse."

She didn't look up. She knew that voice. It was deeper than Moritz's, and less afraid. She silently kept crying, and the voice repeated her name. He wasn't asking if it was her: he was trying to get her attention. She didn't want to talk now. She wanted to wallow in her guilt. 

"Ilse…" the voice trailed off, and she could hear the crackle of leaves as he crouched down and stuck out his hand, putting a strand of her hair behind her ear. He kept running his hands through her wavy hair, and then took her hand in hers. It was a pure gesture of comfort from someone who felt the same as she did.

"Ilse, it wasn't your fault," he breathed in. "It was mine," he continued, his voice cracking. 

She finally looked up, seeing his handsome face obstructed by flowing tears. "Melchi…" she said, and then suddenly embraced him in a hug. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save him."

He rubbed her head as to reassure her, but she could feel him shaking as well. He said nothing, and the two of them sat there, hugging and crying. 

As the wind brushed through the field, Melchior and Ilse stood up, and hand in hand, started to walk toward the graveyard. It wasn't far away, simply down the road, and while the blue wind blew their hair from their faces, Ilse wiped her eyes, and then smiled at Melchior like a small child.

"It wasn't your fault, Melchi."

"It wasn't your fault, Ilse." 

The both smiled each other, gripping each other's hands, and saw the funeral in the distance. They approached, and when they had almost gotten there, Ilse turned to Melchior. "Melchi?" she asked.

"Yes?" he looked at her, the remnants of tears still on his face.

"After…after the funeral…do you want to come over to my house and play? Like old times," she offered, and hoped that his answer would be different than that of Moritz's.

"Sure." 


End file.
